Bright Beginnings
by QuantamTheory
Summary: One-shot, COMPLETE. A baby is born and the future looks so promising. A quick little drabble written for Death the Kid Week's "family" prompt.


**A/N:** Wrote this for the 2015 Death The Kid Week "family" prompt. I've been interested in writing Kid's mother and decided to take her out for a little test run, despite my terror of Mary Sue-ism! Let me know if I missed the mark!

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Her pale hair fell like a curtain around their nursing son, bringing Picasso's Maternity to mind. Even though she was exhausted, she was radiantly, exquisitely beautiful to him. The baby was pretty wonderful, too.

"He's finally full. I think." she said, not sounding quite sure, "He's asleep, at any rate. Can you take him?"

"I might drop him!" It was really unseemly for someone in his position to sound so panicky, and Lord Death was glad that nobody but Sophie was around to witness it.

"You're not going to drop him. Besides, he's a Reaper. You wouldn't hurt him if you did. Not that I'm suggesting it!" The trace of her native French accent grew more pronounced when Lady Death was determined. She firmly passed the blanket-wrapped bundle to her husband, and grumpily resettled her pale blue peignoir, "I don't know why you think I'm some kind of expert. It's not like I have any more experience at this than you do!"

"Very true." Lord Death wasn't used to holding babies. Especially one that was only two days old. He'd held the souls of unfortunate ones, of course, but holding a soul and holding a live baby were two entirely separate things. He'd created his first child himself, fully formed. No cuddling, diapers or feedings required. That had ended in heartbreaking disaster and he had no desire to try it again. Besides, he had a wife now, and doing things the old fashioned way was a lot more fun. It had taken them a couple of hundred years, but having an heir that belonged to both of them was enchanting.

He scootched up onto the bed beside her, "He's so tiny."

"Seven pounds is not tiny!" his wife replied, patting her newly flattened stomach. One of the advantages of being a Reaper was having your body bounce back almost immediately from damn near anything. Even pregnancy and seventeen hours of labor. Merveilleux!

"Soph, we've eaten turkeys that weighed more!"

"When," she demanded playfully, "was the last time you carried a turkey of any size in your abdomen for most of a year? And you try pushing one out of your-"

"It was bad enough watching it!" he interrupted, shuddering at the memory, " I've changed my mind; he's enormous."

"No, he's just right. He's absolutely perfect!" she draped herself over his arm and stroked their son's head, "He's going to look exactly like you."

Lord Death examined the baby's face.

"Not exactly like me," he decided, "He's got your mouth, and that adorable pointy chin is all yours."

A frown creased Sophie's brow. She worked up her courage and finally asked the question that had been tormenting her for the past two days.

"And what about his soul? Does it look...good?" If their sweet, longed-for baby met the same fate as her husband's first son she'd never be able to bear it. Sophie was a weak Reaper and didn't share her husband's soul perception. She often wondered if he'd made her that way on purpose; if he was scared of bringing another Kishin into the world. And now she fretted over the possibility that she'd spent the last nine months bringing his fears back to life.

Death knew her fear. Knew the terror of creating an evil being. Knew the heartbreak of being forced to destroy his own child. He instinctively tightened his grip on the baby, as if bringing it closer to his chest would protect it.

"His soul looks like any other normal, healthy baby's. For now."

Sophie jerked upright, "For now? What does that mean?"

"It means he has the same capacity for good or for evil that most people have. No more, no less." Death said soothingly, "You know Reapers can be unstable, very sensitive when they're young. Prone to being overwhelmed by fear and madness. Asura set off alarm bells from the beginning, but I don't see any of that in our kiddo here. We keep him reasonably safe and he'll be fine."

He clumsily shifted the baby into one arm and put the other around his wife. She looked up at him with blazing eyes.

"He'll be more than fine! Forget reasonably safe, I'll never let anything bad happen to him. Ever."

"You know you can't actually do that, right? You'll drive yourself crazy."

"Well, he'll be as protected as he can be," Sophie insisted, "until he's old enough to deal with the madness in this world. He's going to have a wonderful childhood and be perfectly well adjusted and grow up to be as strong and handsome as his daddy. And that's that."

She smiled contentedly and snuggled against her husband. "Now, what shall we call him?"

"Death. Not much choice there. It's what he is."

"Well I know that's what we're naming him, silly. But what are we going to call him? Not Death; that's your name and he's just a little kid."

The baby made a snuffling noise and opened his big golden eyes. His mother leaned in and nuzzled his soft cheek.

"Yes, you are. You're just a little kid, aren't you?" she crooned.

"Death the Kid" his father joked.

"I think it's cute. Our Kiddo." Sophie looked up from their son and gave her husband a brilliant smile, "Look at us, we're a family! Life is perfect, and just think, it's going to be that way forever!"

She had never been more wrong.


End file.
